At the supper table that evening every one heartily agreed that the aviator's son deserved the Croix de Guerre. Every one heartily agreed, too, that Chase had proved himself a man.
"Honestly, Chase, I never could have believed it of you!" exclaimed Wendell. "You know we—we—that is——"
And here the chef paused.
"Don't get confused, old chap," laughed the other. "To tell the truth, fellows, the horror and tragedy of the war affected my nerves to a much greater extent than I ever expected. I knew every one here thought I had a yellow streak, and I even began to suspect you were right. The whole thing made me feel mighty grouchy and uncomfortable. Sometimes it requires a great crisis to bring a chap to his senses. I didn't think much of myself for running away from the road, and something else occurred which also helped to bring about a wonderful change in my state of mind."
"Pipe us about the something else," exclaimed "Peewee."
Thereupon Chase gave an account of his experience at the Château de Morancourt and his meeting with the soldier.
"The intimation that I was a deserter—actually a deserter—aroused me as nothing else in my life ever did," he continued emphatically. "And the hardest part of it all was the fact that I realized that I actually had been considerably at fault. You can just bet I determined to wipe out the stain—if there was any." Chase's eyes began to sparkle. "In fact I got into such a mood that I actually felt like courting danger instead of avoiding it," he cried. "So I hope no one will ever again be able to justly accuse me of having a yellow streak!"
"Bravo—bravo!" cried Bodkins.
Warm expressions of approval came from all the others.
Following this a general discussion in regard to the poilu started.